Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
"You don't have to stay," Edith grumbles after I hand half a dozen beers to a guy in a trucker hat. "But if you're gonna stay, we're almost out of Coors, and those boxes are heavy as hell. Think you can bring a case up?"
"Sure," I say faster than I normally would, but going down the back hallway gives me the chance to sort of spy on Tommy and Teena and make sure there isn't anything bad happening.
Silence meets my ears in the hallway until I get closer to the door.
"And what do you say?" I hear Tommy rumble.
"Harder," Teena grunts, making my skin crawl.
Her whimpers aren't ones of distress, but Jesus fuck, why can't he do this shit at his own house? Why does it have to be here in the bar?
I grab a case of Coors and make my way back to the front, having committed my mind to staying until I see that girl walk out of here safely, even though she didn't seem to be in trouble.
I spot him the second I finish filling the cooler with the new case of beer, and the bottle in his hand says he's either been hiding out in the corner for a while or he ordered while I was spying on Tommy and his evening guest.
Of course, his eyes are locked on me, and as much as I want to give him a middle finger, I'm overcome with a sense of relief. The man rides a motorcycle, which even on straight roads is dangerous, especially with how little care people in regular vehicles take. I know it's silly to think an accident would be the only thing that would keep him away for days, and I know I should be upset to find out that he's here and perfectly healthy. It's not sane to be mad that he's okay.
I narrow my eyes at him, and I swear I see that dimple dig in just a little deeper, telling me that he's trying not to smile at me. Knowing I'm able to pull that kind of reaction from him is intoxicating, addicting, the whole reason I'm in this stupid situation to begin with.
"I see your stranger is back," Edith says. "Thanks for bringing the case up. Why don't you go say hi?"
"He's not my stranger," I argue, but I'm already pulling my apron over my head.
Jersey's voice issuing a warning about Owen hits my back, but I pay him no attention. A man who can't keep his own family together because of his addiction doesn't get to question me about mine. And I know for a hundred percent certainty that Owen Clark is most definitely an addiction.
Why else would I crave something that has left me angry and questioning my own judgment so many times?
Chapter 21
Hemlock
It has to be Jericho in my head that has me questioning everything I convinced myself to believe, but there's no arguing the facts.
I got to the bar just in time to see Zara lead that young woman to the back of the bar. She chatted with her first, smiling as if she was trying to convince the woman that whatever she was facing in the back would turn out okay.
My skin is still crawling like a million ants are shuffling over it when she spots me.
Somehow, caught in her line of sight, more doubt sets in, certain corners of my mind trying to convince me that there has to be a valid reason she would send a young woman back there to face God-knows-what at the hands of Tommy Wilkinson. There isn't always something nefarious about a young woman in a bar. Some would argue that lots of young women go into bars either looking for a good time or some trouble to get into.
I see her eyes dart in the direction of the hall before she hangs up her apron and makes her way in this direction.
My raging pulse begins to calm with every step she takes toward me, to the point that it beats a normal rhythm once she's right in front of me.
There are more people in the bar than normal, but I knew that the second I followed Tommy from his house a few miles up the mountain half an hour ago. For being nothing but a seedy bar owner, he sure does have enough money for a private gate and enough security cameras to put a big box retail store to shame. That's why it's weird that he doesn't have anything in the form of security here at the bar. Hell, he doesn't even have an alarm system to notify the police if someone kicks in the front door.
When her hand runs over my shoulder, I know I should've listened to that voice in my head telling me to stay away from her, the one who knows she's nothing but trouble.